


Eminus

by maelpereji



Series: Michael & Adam (Midam) [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Chapters to be added, M/M, midam, ongoing work, season 15 spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-16
Updated: 2020-12-16
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:33:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28103241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maelpereji/pseuds/maelpereji
Summary: "So," Adam asks, "why did you run away?"
Relationships: Michael/Adam Milligan
Series: Michael & Adam (Midam) [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2051586
Comments: 10
Kudos: 35





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> It's 4am and I should be sleeping so I wrote this in like 5 minutes, BUT- what if after the Rapture, once Chuck has killed everyone on earth, Michael conjures little... apparitions of Adam in order to keep him close?

_“So,"_ Adam asks, " _why did you run away?”_

“I was afraid.”

_“Of me?"_

The kid is not here, not _really,_ not in the physical, no longer on hand with these words, but the incredulity in his tone is striking - and as real as the mental image Michael so often _conjures_ to keep him. ~~Close~~. 

Michael shakes his head. _Not of you._

“Of my _self_. Of the things I feel.”

Even the _apparition_ of Adam is silent on receipt of this confession - uncharacteristically so.

Michael _rallies_ before he can stop himself. “The _last_ time I felt so freely, without limitations, I was commanded to gather Heaven’s armies, and to cast my own brother from his home.”

~~Why is Adam so _quiet_?~~

“Every time I have loved someone, they have been taken away from me somehow. Lucifer...” _Pain._ Do not linger here. “Gabriel ran away from the fighting.” _From me._ “Father left us all. Raphael is dead. Heaven’s armies have been _decimated_.” _My family_. “I was afraid of what it might mean for _you_ , if I _let_ myself feel things for you.”

Adam is _still_ too quiet - surely Michael can conjure a better likeness than this? Or, maybe he wants it this way? He isn’t _expecting_ anything, let alone acknowledgement, and most definitely not _pity_.

“I suppose…” He goes on, allowing for the sigh of _weariness_ that almost always follows suit once _vulnerability_ itself has managed to fight it’s way free. “I was just worried about what _dangers_ I posed to you.”

_“What?”_

Bemusement _\- plain as day._

The Archangel shakes his head, shrugging a lax shoulder. “It was… fanciful thinking, but- I was afraid that when the day came that my Father returned, if He were ever to order me to _hurt you_ the way I did Lucifer… that I would obey Him. I didn’t want to risk being near you, if that was a possibility.”

Adam _stares_ at him. There is weight in his eyes that Michael so wishes he did not understand. " _And what did you decide?”_

Michael, _aching,_ stares steadily back at him. ~~He is _gone_. Adam is gone. **This isn’t real.**~~ “...I’m near you _now_ , aren’t I?”

Adam seems to allow this a moment of thought before he nods.

Before he _smiles._

“…Yeah.” He says - _sighs_. “Yeah, I guess you are.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The candles are burning low, but Adam's eyes are alive in the darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Round two of A(dam)pparition. ...No, I will not stop saying that. I love it.

_“I mean… think about it-”_

Adam – _not_ Adam, but Michael’s deftly created apparition of the kid – has been talking out loud for the past ten minutes.

His musings are so normal, so utterly within the realms of _expected_ , that for now, Michael tells himself to believe in the lie. He believes - as a fool, and only for this small, private moment between action and inaction, between truth and deception, between joy and pain - that Adam is _here_.

_“-I was born on the Feast Day of Saint Michael. I grew up being told stories about you. I prayed to you – not just you, but… y’know, mostly you, when I was a kid. When I died, you resurrected me. I became your vessel. I spent one thousand years with you in Hell. I died – again - in a church built in your honour.”_

The utter lack of bitterness in Adam’s voice is _so_ very like him. Even as Michael’s gaze moves away from the altar, Adam’s projection _saves_ his impish smile until he has the Archangel’s attention entirely on him.

“What are you saying?” Michael asks.

_“That either way, it’s great irony, or great story planning.”_

“Or both.”

Adam gives air to an amused scoff, quirking a half grin as he does. He _looks_ at ease, slouched in the front-most pew of the church, an arm stretched out across the back of the aged wooden seating, but there is a trace of disquiet in his eyes.

Michael knows that look – it’s the one Adam adopts, unknowingly, when there is something he doesn’t want to _say,_ and so, to keep himself from doing just that, he _rambles._

_“Okay, so maybe I was never meant to be your true vessel, but-”_

“You are my true vessel.” Michael counters smoothly, watching the way Adam’s brows hike a touch at the cool insistence in his tone. “You said ‘ _yes’_. You let me in. You were at my side, as I was yours, through Hell. You-”

_–lifted the veil that had covered my eyes since the dawn of Creation._

_“But Dean-”_

“Dean Winchester was created to serve a purpose. Once that purpose became obsolete, so did he. I chose _you_. You are my vessel. You always will be.”

For a beat, it’s quiet; identical blue gazes hold one another within the dimly lit darkened Cathedral. The candles are burning low, but Adam’s eyes are alive in the darkness.

 _“It doesn’t matter, you know.”_ Adam says the words with just a _touch_ too much forced composure. _“What you’ve been thinking about since I died again? I don’t mind.”_

Michael elicits a soft breath, eyes slipping closed. “Adam-”

Sometimes, this apparition of sorts, moulded and pieced together by Grace, designed flawlessly with every brilliant, blazing piece that Michael remembers and _knows_ of Adam’s soul – seems to take on _life._ It seems to not just exist _,_ to respond or to _pretend_ at life, but to become – almost too quickly – what Adam had _been._

 _“No, listen.”_ Adam lifts a hand airily as he goes on. _“I’m not saying that it was always okay. Zachariah made me promises. He manipulated the crap outta me and-”_ He takes pause, head tilting and brow furrowing as he appears to think on something unpleasant. “ _My point is, those promises aren’t on you. What he did, of his own accord, is on him. You don’t owe me anything. What you did for me in Hell-”_

“Adam, you need to stop these attempts at… _counselling.”_

Adam sits forward, bracing his weight with both elbows upon his knees, fingers lacing together as he fixes the Archangel stood before him with a look that is – somehow - both firm _and_ compassionate at the same time. _“And you need to stop looking at me, and talking to me, as though I’m really here.”_

Michael says nothing to this, beholden to guilt, loss – and a familiar touch of irksome frustration that he attributes, entirely and with fondness, to _Adam._

_“Halo, why **are** you doing this?”_

Michael holds true to silence. His eyes trace the way Adam's brow furrows delicate lines into his forehead, the way his eyes - emotive and deep - seem to hold the burdens of their time together.

All one thousand, two hundred _Hell_ years of it.

Evidently sensing that he isn't about to receive a response, Adam shifts, getting to his feet and crossing the short distance to where Michael stands, still and watchful, at the foot of the altar.

_“Is there something you need to say to me that you didn’t get the chance to when I was alive?”_

Honesty is _easy_ with Adam. It always has been, and so, Michael allows himself a soft nod of affirmation. “There are… many things I want to say.”

_“Then say them.”_

Michael does not consider the offer, not even for a second. Instead, he takes in, for the three hundredth and sixty seventh time that day, the marine depths of Adam’s eyes, the line of his jaw, the shade of his skin, the intrinsically, Godlike details that make him _who_ he is, the sense of belonging that radiates from the _realness_ of this too-well constructed illusion of everything that Adam had been.

Of everything _they_ had been.

It takes a moment before Michael forces himself to shake his head, the gesture one of soft denial.

Adam seems unsurprised by the silent rejection of his proposal, which is, Michael knows, _exactly_ the way he would have reacted were this really him, were he really _here,_ alive, breathing, speaking, and looking at him the way this illusion does.

“The things you were talking about- the irony, the story planning, the… _details_ of your life that seem too deliberate to be accidental-”

_“What about them?”_

Michael sighs, and for some reason, even though the thought _hurts_ as it is given life from his lips, he chuckles. "God has a dark sense of humour." 

Adam grins. On anyone else, the expression would be sinister. On him, it's impish. 

_"Well,”_ He says, a tone of finality in his voice, _“so do I, halo. So do I."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for stopping by again! Comments and kudos keep my demons under control ;)

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, as always! If you liked what you read, comments & kudos make my day. I may add chapters to this one. Little conversation pieces between Michael and his Adam-pparition (I think I'm clever).


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